Resurrection
by TalulaJones
Summary: Klaus resurrects the powerful Bonnie Bennett to contend with Marcel. But, Bonnie is struggling with the loss of her father and the process of coming back to life. And Klaus, wanting to protect his investment, attempts to understand her.
1. The Art of War

Resurrection

For: Jessica (Godiva-Duchess) and all the Klonnie lovahs!

Summary: Klaus resurrects the powerful Bonnie Bennett to contend with Marcel. But, Bonnie is struggling with the loss of her father and the process of coming back to life. And Klaus, wanting to protect his investment, attempts to understand her.

A/N: This story is in an alternate universe and I've definitely taken liberties with canon Klaus and Bonnie.

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Historically, when a King plans to invade and reclaim his empire from a usurper, he seeks counsel.

Rallying around the crown would be: wartime generals, strategizing their takeover; ordained priests, blessing their invasion; and loyalists, men who would die in the name of their king.

Klaus has none of these.

Which is why he is asking for directions to Mama T's house from an uninterested teen-aged boy on his bike, back-dropped by the leftover wreckage of the lower ninth ward.

"What you want with Mama T?" the dark-skinned teen asks; distrusting the pale-skinned vampire in his neighborhood.

Klaus brandishes a wide smile and softens his usual approach, "She happens to be a very old friend of my family, mate, and at one time, I could find my way to her residence without trouble, but with the new names on the street signs, I find myself lost," he states with ease, and it was all true, even though the time period he spoke of was before the track houses and the squared off lawns existed; it was when the sprawling acreage was covered with sugar-cane and working plantations.

Gesturing his hand toward the end of the street they are currently on, the young man tells Klaus to make a left at the stop sign, and when Klaus asks for a description of the house, he tells him he will know it's hers because it's the only house still standing on that street.

With his brow drenched in sweat from the August sun, the teenager preps one Nike shoe on the metal pedal of his bike and warns, "You know she's a witch, right?"

"I know, mate," Klaus says with a smile and a slight nod, continuing his stroll down the neighborhood's crumbling sidewalk; igniting the curiosity of the residents who happen to notice the rugged blonde 'bringer of death' pass by their home.

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"You don't know me, but I knew your mother," Klaus says, hands clasped behind his back, tipping his weight back and forth on his heels, making small talk with the elderly copper-skinned woman who is ogling him while standing at the threshold of her dimly lit and much cluttered living room.

"You the vampire?"

"Was, I'm now a hybrid." He responds, giving her living room a once over, concentrating on the dusty pictures of the replica Renaissance painting of the Last Supper and a portrait of the late human, Dr. Martin Luther King hanging askew on the wall behind her.

The 102-year old witch turns away from him like that's all she needed to hear and takes up residence on the tattered lay-z-boy, "Come sit down over here," She says, pointing to the faded velveteen couch, "Hurts my legs to stand for a long time, come sit cher' and we can talk."

On his way to the couch, maneuvering around the huge furniture: the over-sized love seat and coffee table, he spots a greying picture in a silver-plated frame, and picks it up from the others on the grimy surface, "You resemble her," He states, brow furrowed, examining the familiar contours in the face of the woman in the photo, "Her proud demeanor and noble chin," He finishes, transported to a bygone era, and before any memories produce, he puts the picture back into the jumble of frames.

"She told me stories 'bout you, "She smiled, her hand landing lightly on her knee, "Well, what was proper to tell a daughter about a former beau."

He offers a weak smile and catches a glimpse of his self in her thick smudged glasses, "She was a dear friend of mine, and also a helpful one," He adds, curtailing this house call to the reason why he was there.

"How can this old lady help you, Niklaus?" She asked, her question rolling out of her mouth like she was ready to discuss business, making Klaus sit up a little straighter.

"As cliché as this may sound," He starts, rubbing his palms over his dark jeans, "I have come to you to get insight on my future."

The old lady coughs out a laugh, her bird-like chest rising and falling, "You sound like them girls that come here asking when will they get married, or when will so and so stop cheating. You ain't come all this way to know about some girl, have you cher'?"

Klaus crosses his heavy leather boots under the coffee table, settling into the worn sofa, "No madam, I have not. I am inquiring about my future, specifically in the event, if I pursue an endeavor that will require me to remove a colleague of mine from presiding as a monarch of some sorts over our fellow city."

The witch blinks at him, her eyes looking distorted behind the coke-bottle eye-glasses, "Fancy talk for you wanna get rid of Marcel and make New Orleans yours again?"

"Precisely," Klaus exclaims, excited that he didn't have to pussyfoot around the subject, or worse, have to engage in other tactics to have her fulfill his request.

With a few huffs, the witch rises from the recliner, walks to the kitchen and comes back waving a plastic blue tumbler in Klaus's face, "Go back there, hop that fence, dip the cup in the canal and bring the water back."

Plastic tumbler in hand, Klaus opens the back door into the stifling hot Louisiana sun, his boots trampling down the un-mowed grass of Mama T's backyard and hops, from a standing position, over the chain-link fence, and treks through the tall bayou grass, where snakes and other critters roam, heading straight to the canal.

He approaches the murky brown-blue water, crouching down, he threads his fingers through the liquid, enlivened by the scent of the Mississippi; that body of water representative of an entity capable of providing abundance of wealth to the residents of the Crescent City and simultaneously able to nearly obliterate it.

He fills the cup to the brim with the Mississippi river and returns to Mama T's without spilling a drop.

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If his wretch of a mother hadn't turned him and his siblings into vampires, then Klaus could have been a witch. Through his maternal blood line; he carried the witch gene, why is why he believes he has an innate affinity and respect for witches, and how over a thousand years, walking the earth as a blood-sucking abomination of nature, he was still able to procure a longstanding repo ire with those who possessed inherent magic.

Mama T hobbles over to a curio case, pulls out a brass bowl, wipes the dust off with the sleeve of her cotton dress and pours the river water into the bowl.

"Now I want you to concentrate, think about what you gon' need in order to be content, and when I stay stop, I'ma look in the water and tell you what I see."

Klaus furrows his brow, misunderstanding, "Content? I am only interested in the results of this war."

"Always aftermath of war, cher', you gotta think about all of that, even after the dust settle, men always want more, so think. Once you got Marcel out the Quarter, do you want his folks to follow you? Are you gon' get bored with New Orleans? Wanna take over Shreveport and Lafayette too?," She advises, picking up a castor oil bottle sitting on the end table, unscrewing the top and dropping three drops of oil into the bowl of water.

Dammit. She had a point.

New Orleans wasn't going to be enough.

Enough wasn't even a part of his vocabulary.

"Very well," He says, resting his elbows on his thighs and rubbing his chin, "Am I being timed?"

She laughs, "You can sit here all night thinking about it, but I won't be here, I'll be sleep," She says, waving her palms over the water and closing her eyes, "I'll let you know when to stop thinking 'bout it."

And then she began to chant the names of the saints and Klaus sat back and concentrated on what contentment meant to him.

"You ready?" She asks, after ten minutes had passed and Klaus had not thought of anything other than making sure that everyone in New Orleans knew that the 'M', Marcel incessantly stamped and wrote everywhere, was for _**Mikaelson**_.

He nods, and she pushes her frames up her nose and scrutinizes the oily shapes in the water.

"At present, Marcel has the upper hand, he got a witch; she 'posed to be something to be reckoned with."

Klaus grits his teeth, and huffs, balling and uncurling his fist, "He wins?!" He says, trying his best to keep his voice even but failing. Terribly.

Mama T gives him a pointed look and he apologizes and rolls his wrist for her to continue.

"No need to get upset, cher'. You just gon' need a witch too," She says, and bends over the water and looks up at him with a conspiratory grin, "And you gon' have the most powerful witch there is."

Genuinely smiling at Mama T, Klaus bobs in agreement, because Kings, who go to war with just their generals, popes and patriots and do **not** consort the counsel of their seers and sorceresses, to those poor bastards, Klaus says, 'Sorry for your losses,' because they are going to battle unprepared.

You always need magic.

"Provide me with a name and I will be on my way," He says eager to acquire the witch and begin the necessary work to declare war."

"This witch will make you King; New Orleans, Louisiana, Texas, the Gulf states. You will go further but my vision becomes cloudy after New Jersey.

Licking his lips, Klaus leans forward, and repeats, "Name?"

"She's a Bennett. Her name is Bonnie."

Could it be this easy, he thinks? Surely it could not; to have Caroline's brassy best friend as the secret weapon.

"She can defeat Marcel's witch?" He asks quickly; tasting victory.

Mama T, held up her hand for him to stop talking, "The youngest Bennett got more power in her pinky toe than a passel of Marcel's raggedy witches."

Relaxing into the couch, he winks at her and says, "This is excellent news."

"I bet it is," She agrees, and wags a finger at the bowl "But there's a problem, she's gon' be difficult to get."

Klaus understands that the Niklaus that Mama T knows of is the one her mother related to her and was/ is only a small sliver of the many facets of him, she is not aware of what great and horrible lengths he will go to, in order to solidify a future for himself and his family. If the Bennett witch is what he needs, then the Bennett witch is what he shall have. Even if he has to bribe her, threaten her, or kill off her family and friends, one by one.

"I have had the pleasure of her acquaintance, once or twice, and you are right, she is no push over, and will not be easy to entice to my side, but I can be charming when it is required."

The old witch snorts, "You gon' have to do more than be charming; she ain't gon' be easy to get period."

His jaw tightens at all of the obstacles standing in his way. "Do you foresee her being a problem, "Klaus asks, hiding that he doesn't give a shit about the elderly woman's opinion, behind his devilish smile.

And Mama T bobs her head emphatically, "She gon' be a problem 'cause she dead cher'."

Author's Note

Whew! Okay, I wanted to write and get this up in prep for Klonnie week tomorrow. This is going to be a very, very short multi-fic (my definition of a short scene) for my other OTP Klonnie. This story was conceptualized and inspired by Godiva-Duchess, and the very last scene (you will read in the future) is a scene she had written but her computer crashed, so I'm hoping to give it life in this story.


	2. Trouble of the World

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The thought that Mama T has made a fool of him crosses his mind, and his hands twitch; they want to shoot out and snap her slight, mole covered neck, but he reminds himself that Mama T is the child of a human who had been kind to him, one of the very few beings to ever be so over the millennia of his existence, and more importantly, she is the only witch who will perform magic within a 100 mile radius of New Orleans.

Marcel Gerard, Klaus's former protégé and current King of New Orleans, had banned it in the Quarter and its surrounding parishes for the last fifty years and has executed any witch practicing.

Of course this law did not apply to Marcel's witch.

Klaus stands abruptly, his eyes flashing from blue to yellow, "What games are you playing old woman?" He asks, allowing Mama T to explain herself, a grace he has rarely allowed a human, especially one who he presently believes has just sold him a pipe dream.

Unafraid, Mama T angles her head up at the angry hybrid and purses her lips together like she is sizing him up, "I tell you no lies, Niklaus; she's your witch, and she _is_ dead. This is the truth," She stresses, and then points a bony, crooked finger at him, "But, Mama T is gon' fix that."

Klaus grimaces down at Mama T, "And why would you be so generous in helping me to obtain the witch?" He asks, expecting her to specify what part of the spoils she wants after he takes New Orleans back from Marcel.

She gently pushes her feet on the rickety wooden floors and begins to slowly rock, "Like I see you in yo' future, I see in mine. I'm 'posed to bring that baby back."

Glancing around the shabby living room, he sees the broken TV sitting on the threadbare rug, the small holes and wide cracks in the hardwood letting cool air out in the summer, and cold wind in in the winter, and the thin walls stained brown from water damage. Klaus runs his hands through his hair, "Name a price and I will pay it," He orders, because he is uncomfortable. He doesn't want to owe anyone, even if they think it's a part of their destiny.

She tells him to save his pennies; she doesn't need them.

But when he growls about how he does not entertain negotiating after a deal is made, she shuts her eyelids close, and in a low whisper, she tells him when she dies, she wants him to foot the bill.

Smirking, he bows and picks up her hand and kisses it, "You will have a funeral fit for a queen," He says, satisfied with the arrangement.

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On a private plane to an isolated airspace in Virginia; Klaus is accompanied by his plans as he is the lone passenger besides the compelled pilot.

Klaus circles a finger around the rim of the gin filled glass in his hand, deep in thought, envisioning his coup, explicitly, the pleasure he will have in seeing Marcel -the boy he made into a man- crumble and having him speak and behave as if he is on his knees while in his presence.

Then there would be no more confusion on who is and _always_ has been King.

The pilot's voice comes on over the intercom, cheery and fake, informing Klaus that the time is 8:30 PM and the weather is 75 degrees, slightly cloudy and they will be descending in the next fifteen minutes.

He does not have much time in Virginia; he has to return to New Orleans for tomorrow's nightfall so Mama T can carry out the rites of resurrection.

Before departing from Mama T's home, he had been very displeased that she would not reanimate the Bennett Witch then and there, but she told him she had everything a witch needed to welcome a soul back to this world, but there was one object required for her invocation to succeed.

There was the matter of obtaining the girl's body.

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Caroline is surprised to see him. She stops mid-stride on the tree-lined walkway from her dorm, and shakes her head in disbelief, her blonde waves brushing her shoulders with each movement, "What are you doing here? She asks, clearly struggling with not knowing whether to be giddy or alarmed.

When he was tasked with getting the one article needed for Mama T, he had presumed it would be a simple issue. He would go to the cemetery where the Bennett was buried and dig up her corpse. Done.

But the old witch said she wasn't in no coffin, that the girl lay in a stony pocket under the earth, where it was dark and wet.

Driving towards Mystic to begin his search for the body, his armored black Suburban had doubled back to Hwy 50 in the direction of Whitmore College. He reasoned his last minute decision to being because Caroline had loved the Bennett witch enough to kill twelve witches for her, then she was the one who could tell him where in the world were her remains. And the turnaround was not because he would like to see her.

"Business in Mystic," He smiles and lifts her hair from her shoulder, letting it fall from his hand over her back, "Which can wait as I could not resist seeing where the mini fridge I gave to you now resides."

Inviting him up to her room, she fidgets while he inspects the lofty space, and she tells him she has the place to herself as Elena is on sabbatical with Damon.

"Your vocabulary has improved," He says, earning him an eye roll and a jut of her hip.

"There's the fridge and there's the door," She says, gesturing her hands like an air traffic controller to the closed door.

Ignoring her, he leans over her messy desk. It seems she had been doing some scrapbooking earlier and he glances up at a large corkboard hanging over the desk and sees what has facilitated all of the clippings of pictures and pink glitter.

"It's a mood board," She says, folding her arms defensively, "Something for me to look at when I get sad."

Pulling out the desk chair, he sits and arranges the alphabet letters she had cut with fine precision, "Why should you ever be sad?" He asks, anticipating her to speak of her departed friend.

"I know it's foreign to you, Klaus, but when you aren't dead inside, you have feelings and one of those feelings can be sadness."

He snorts at Caroline's naiveté and as he looks for the 'K' to complete the spelling of his name, he overturns a glossy postcard of the Grand Canyon and eyes it quickly to see it is marked with a recent date and is signed, 'Bonnie Bennett'.

His interest piques and he reads the letter to Caroline.

Blah Blah Blah. She was having a great summer. Blah Blah Blah. The canyon was beautiful and she wished Caro' could be there. Blah Blah Blah. She was traveling to California next.

"And here I thought it might be because of over lamenting a death or perhaps having to experience college without your flaky Elena."

She snatches the postcard from his fingers, "No one died, Klaus. I just miss my friends."

"From the postcard and your attitude, I take that your witch friend is not joining you here at Whitmore?"

Caroline holds the card with both hands, and plops down on the end of her bed, "She doesn't say; and I haven't had a chance to ask her." She sulks and throws up her hands, "She refuses to check her email and because she's traveling I don't have an address to mail a letter to, I mean, I'd start to worry if I didn't get these stupid postcards," She says and Klaus hears the choke of tears in her voice.

Noting that there is someone aware of the witch's location, and that it isn't Caroline; he thinks it is best he leave.

He stands and tells her if there are any other appliances she requires for an adequate stay at university, that she please not hesitate to request them from him.

And then she is the one to surprise him.

She hugs him; her arms wrap tightly around his neck and she lays her head where his heart would beat if he had one and says with her mouth muffled against his chest, "I need an iron."

His chest vibrates with laughter and he buries his nose in her hair and tells her he will have one delivered in the morning.

As he exits down the hall, she tells him to wait and she stands there in the empty and badly lit hallway, one hand on the doorknob and a wide smile on her face, "Where is this favorite place you were talking about on my voicemail, the place with all the culture, and food and art that you wanted to show me?"

His upper lip quirks, "Are you willing to pick up and leave your life here and never look back?" He demands.

And she squints for a moment and then finally says, "I'm with Tyler, Klaus."

His jaw ticks at the sound of his name from her lips. There was still a Tyler. Tyler over him. As there had been a Stefan over him, and a Mikael over him.

Turning from her without a goodbye, he heads down the stairs and says, "Then it shall remain a mystery."

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When he's able to break into Bonnie Bennett's home, he realizes that it is not only Bonnie who is dead.

The house is silent.

Upstairs, he slowly goes down the row of bedrooms, twisting each knob, looking to see what prize lies behind each door.

And in her father's bedroom, things look as if he were on his way back home: a half packed rolling suitcase is on the bed, there are business suits in navy and charcoal covered in their dry cleaning plastic, hanging on top of the closet door and there are plane tickets to Hong Kong and Tokyo for flights that had departed a week ago neatly stacked next to his passport on his dresser.

A red light blinks on the nightstand, catching Klaus's attention. He presses the grey button on the answering machine, and listens to a litter of messages from Abby and a secretary from Papa Bennett's job, all asking, "Where are you?"

Leaving the father's room for the teenaged witch's, he discovers that Bonnie Bennett might have been a tad OCD. The room is meticulously arranged and organized, everything in its right place, from her award ribbons hung according to color scheme and her trophies lined from tallest to shortest, to the letters on her desk piled according to length that had all be slit open properly by a letter opener.

He scrutinizes the heap of collegiate embossed envelopes and reads the many acceptance letters to schools that weren't anywhere near Caroline and Elena.

"At least the ol' girl attempted to have a life away from the dreadful doppelganger," he whispers to no one as the security light outside her window glows into her bedroom, timed for when the living would prepare for sleep.

And he finds a copy of a return letter that has her handwriting to the prestigious one in California, and her big curly cursive did not match the handwriting on the many postcards in Caroline's possession.

Not anywhere closer to finding Bonnie's body and antsy with the knowledge that there is someone covering up her death, he feels his win slipping through his fingers, and he angrily knocks her trophies from its shelf, sending them crashing across the bedroom, and the biggest trophy crashes right through the air condition vent that is floor-level across from him and reveals the hiding place of her familial grimorie.

Tucked as a place holder in the wrinkled pages is an illustration of an expression triangle -one he had recently seen- where each point of the triangle signified where sacrifices were made and the final spot in which a certain witch could drop the veil and unleash hell on earth.

And he snorts.

He knows now where Bonnie Bennett lies.

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Underneath Mystic Falls High, in a damp, rat infested tunnel, would have been the perfect center of the triangle, where she would have been able to harness the energy to drop the veil.

And as he descends down the rusted ladder under the sewage cover in the school's parking lot, he grimaces a smile that he was correct in his hypothesis, because he can smell her.

The gagging stench of death leads him to her and when he finds her, well, what is left of her, he determines by the sight of her rotted body that she has been down there for longer than three months.

Crouching down, he sticks his finger right through what should be her firm chest and is able to touch the toxic water flowing underneath her.

Klaus is unaffected.

He has seen too much.

The Black Plague had destroyed 20 million people, Hitler had exterminated 10 million more, he alone slaughtered several thousand, so here, in Mystic Falls squatting in front of a body of a nineteen-year old girl, half eaten by rats and bloated with maggots, and the other half of her a gleaming white skeletal frame, did nothing but inspire his curiosity.

Death is a romantic notion for a being who cannot die.

And if he were to hypothesize cause of death, he would conclude exhaustion from constantly saving her friends.

He could not remember much about the witch other than the obvious - her powerful lineage and brazen attitude - but what he did remember, what stood out for him as he searched for her corpse, was her loyalty to those she loved.

And here she lay at his feet, this was her honorable burial.

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The following evening, Mama T leads Klaus to where not even the full moon can penetrate, into the thick of the Louisiana bayou.

Black moss hangs like bodies from the cypress trees, the Goliaths of the swamp, and crickets sing their midnight tune to one another, and mere feet from them, water ripples from the sleeping gators and splashes when one clamps its teeth through a squealing animal.

Mama T is dressed in all white; her head wrap high enough to reach God and her linen floor length skirt and billowy blouse make her look like a ghost when he lights the two torches she made him set into the ground, mainly for the mosquitoes she complained about than for the ritual.

He asks if she has spelled their location from being detected by Marcel and she laughs so hard that Klaus is no longer amused and listens intently for any sound that he has been set up.

Pulling from her bag an unlabeled bottle of brown liquor and a battered leather bound bible, she says, "If Marcel was gon' kill me cher' he would have done it a long time ago, way before you come asking 'bout your future and Bonnie. "

Klaus respects her defiance and he tells her so.

"Its 'pealing to you cause you on the other side, remember that when you get that crown you want so bad, and don't forget when you keep people down under your boot long enough, eventually they get tired, figure out how to get that boot off they neck." She sets the bottle at her feet and holds the book in her hand, turning to a desired page and reads Psalms 23:4.

"…_.__Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil…."_

And Klaus thinks about the old gods, the ones for the age of iron and lead, dead and gone for him, and how the only being he has found worthy of worship over a thousand years is himself.

Mama T picks up a broken piece of wood and draws a circle in the dirt around Bonnie, which is not Bonnie at all, just bone and decayed tissue, a husk for her missing organs, blood, and heart.

She shakes her head as she stares down at the body, "Poor cher', she was rotting and no one cared, she may say to hell with this world," she says, fanning Klaus over to the body, then orders, "Come ovah' here and give her your blood, Niklaus."

Klaus narrows his eyes at Mama T and then his canines extend from his gums, sharp and menacing, and he bites into the palm of his hand, four holes bleeding in the white skin, and he balls a fist, blood dripping onto the enamel of the corpse's teeth, and he threatens, "She does not have a choice. I traveled to Mystic Falls, I scrounged up her bones. She must come."

"You can growl and gnash all you want, but it ain't gon bring her back. You ain't the boss over there, she come 'cause she want to."

"Then what good are you?" He seethes through clenched teeth.

"Mama T can only do her part, cher'. All my energy gon' be on opening those gates, I gotta chat with Papa Legba so he can allow us to talk to her and he gon' want to discuss the cost, so that means you gotta be the one to do the pleadin', you gon' be the one to call her back."

He huffs, "Calling her back to life is your line of work, is it not?

"You want her on your side don't cha? Well, you gon' have to charm her like how you was boastin' about the other day," She says, grinning from ear to ear.

Un-nerved that the actual attainment of the witch did not depend on him sludging through a sewer to get her, but depends on him playing nice with her soul.

"The Bennett witch and I were not exactly the best of chums when she was alive; she might have tried to kill me a time or two," He enlightens Mama T of he and the Bennett witch's antagonistic relationship and how it might be a problem when it comes to her wanting to come back to life for him.

Mama T waves her hand like it isn't a big deal, and picks up the bottle. "Think of what you can give her that would make her want to leave the dead, focus on that, and if you sincere, then she'll come."

And before he can gripe again, he watches her fill her mouth with the contents of the bottle and spit it out unceremoniously over the corpse and then pick up the matchbox and light a match, throwing the matchstick onto the body.

"_For, lo, the wicked bend their bow, they make ready their arrow upon the string that they may privily shoot at the upright in heart.__If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do…"_

The corpse blazes, crackles and melts, and Klaus concentrates on the fire, fear rising in him that the ritual will end before he has made any plea to the witch and it will have all been for naught.

He thinks about the one time she was in his home, and how she exuded more power than she even she was aware of, and he thinks of that wasted power in the land of the dead, and he thinks complimenting that power is a good starting point to get in her good graces.

But he knows it's just flattery, that he's full of shit, and that it definitely won't be enough.

The Bennett witch had been a consummate warrior for the people she loved and called friends, and in the end, who was there for her?

"Now Klaus!" Mama T yells.

And Klaus mentally speaks, to what, he's not sure, but he makes a promise nevertheless.

Red-orange flames fire up to the sky, blowing back Klaus from where he stood, and he pounces to his feet, worried that the same has happened to Mama T only to see her feet are firmly planted to the ground, in the mist of the blaze with Bonnie, untouched by the flames, and before he has a moment to question how, the fire instantly dies.

"Mama T is gon sit down for a bit," She coughs, out of breath and holding her hand over her heart as she shuffles over to a fallen log.

And lying in the middle of the scorched circle is the miracle of a corpse made human, supple brown flesh covers the skeleton, and the body gently rises and falls with its each breath.

Klaus approaches the young woman's body cautiously, how Adam did when he first saw Eve sleeping upon his wake under the forbidden tree. And for a second, while inspecting her perfect unblemished and very naked body, he recalls his sacred promise and he feels protective over her.

Hovering his face inches from her heart-shaped own, he caresses her jawline and says, "Bonnie," his voice deep and commanding her to confirm their ritual has worked by opening her eyes.

No response.

He quickly shoots a look at the witch who nods for him to try again.

"Bonnie," he says gently, leaning down to stress his next words directly into her ear, "This. Is. Klaus."

And her olive green eyes, flash open.

Author's Note

I had hoped to get this out before the end of Klonnie week, unfortunately the rest of the chapters will be after the end of Klonnie week.

You guys are all awesome. Thank you for the outpour of reviews and love for this story. I'm glad you are all enjoying it and I hope to keep you entertained.


	3. Bonnie

**BKBKBK**

The Other Side wasn't Heaven or Hell.

It wasn't a final decision. It was a waiting room; a dreary lobby created by a scorned distant relative to deprive supernaturals of an afterlife and have them instead exist on earth as phantom observers; to be in the world but not be of the world.

And this is where Bonnie had so many times voiced she would gladly go for the sake of the happiness and safety of her friends, behind the scenes of the living, who smiled, who cried, who made love and fought, who got to experience life while she subsisted in the shadow of it.

For three months she had convinced herself she was content following her loved ones, orbiting their lives, pretending their trials and tribulations were her own; it was make-believe, it was fantasizing color in a present of only gray.

She actually assumed she could continue on like this: months, years, centuries.

But then she witnessed the murder of her father. His throat slit from ear to ear.

And she stopped following the living; stopped imagining that the lives she watched were her own.

She was dead.

And the hopeless realization she was trapped with her loneliness made her state unbearable.

So when the gatekeeper, Elegba, found her; prostrate and broken at the gravesite of her Father, he bellowed she had a summoner and the ground underneath her began to seep blood in a circle around where she laid.

He presented the summoner's vow.

And she instinctively accepted, fastened her entire being around that promise; clung to each word and let it lead her out of the darkness.

**BKBKBKBK**

"_This. Is. Klaus."_

She blinks slowly up at him from her supine position, and before she recognizes him, before she realizes her savior has been her tormentor; he swiftly leans in, her lips grazing his stubbled chin and he slides his cold, broad hands under her bare thighs and neck, lifting her to her feet.

Only a breath between them, she squints at him, and the delicate skin between her eyes creases, and she sees the world for the first time. The Original Hybrid. His red lips, wide animated mouth, and his white throat. She concentrates on the thick red and blue veins traversing down the side of his neck, and how the knot at the center of his throat moves with each formulated sound.

"_What is wrong with her?"_

She looks down at the length of herself, her breasts and dark brown nipples, and naked arms and legs, she curiously runs her fingers down the firm middle of her chest, over the taunt stretch of skin at her stomach, and she glances up, her dark hair ashen from the dirt ground, curling over her shoulders, shrouding her oblique gaze.

He is staring at her. His blue eyes black in the torchlight.

"_She been dead cher', give her a time. She a newborn." _

The second voice came from behind her. The timbre was not as dark as his, and she tries to turn to look for the source of the voice but wobbles, and the hybrid pulls her closer to him, to where her body is pressed securely onto his. And her lips get caught on the cotton of his t-shirt as she attempts to make sound come from her own mouth; but what escapes is a raspy whisper of air. And she feels his fingers, holding the back of her neck, the nails digging into her flesh, and she moans, wriggles from discomfort, and the fingertips loosen their grip, and hesitantly, they begin to caress her, like the hand was unsure if it could touch her in such a way.

"_She does not remember me." _

His chest vibrates when he speaks; her ear is on his sternum and she is enchanted by the hollow deep sound; she can feel his voice in her own body, and she knows she is alive.

"_Souls been here since the start, cher', they don't remember blips and you a blip. When she get settled in her bones she will tho', just you wait."_

**BKBKBKBK**

He slides his grey t-shirt up and over his head and tells her, "Hold up your arms," and she gives him a inquisitive look, and he notices in her olive green eyes the moment she understands his command, and her lithe arms, the color of confections, like butterscotch or caramel, reach upward without a question of why and Klaus lips curl into a smirk as he briefly considers her lapse of memory as a fortune.

'_**You have no idea what I can do now.'**_

Those were her words to him when she had trapped him for three days in the Gilbert living room, and he recalls vividly, his grief over his murdered brother, his lust for the deaths of Elena and Jeremy Gilbert, and his determined pledge to tear the little witch limb from limb.

He remembers; even if she cannot.

And now, she belonged to him.

He rolls the shirt in his hands to the opening, placing the hole over her head, and he skims the warm curve of her neck as he untucks her hair from under the collar; and he is methodically planning how to use her. How she will be his shield and sword, the sharp blade to sever the head of his enemy, and he is tugging her arms through the shirt like a father does a child when he is startled by her placing her soft palms on either side of his face; her thumb smoothing over his bottom lip.

He stumbles out of her curious embrace, his eyes narrowing on the little witch who looks sheepishly down at her hands.

Mama T hobbles over to stand in between them; she has her hand on her hip, and she points to Bonnie and asks, "What she do?"

"Nothing," He scowls, "Nothing at all."

"Then why you scared?"

He stretches his mouth into a smile at Mama T and at the pair of green eyes that follow him, "If anything, I am amused," He says,_** s**_talking the perimeter of their ritual, sniffing the air scented with magic, that gunpowder smell, and it heightens his paranoia.

He runs his hands through this thick hair, and calls Mama T a fool for not hiding their location with a spell. Here they were, open kill, and he imagines how many soldiers Marcel would send to take down an old witch, and how many more would he send if he has the knowledge that Klaus is with her.

There was a clearing in the woods that they had trampled on their way to the bayou, and Klaus hushes both women, even though neither has said a word, and he peers through the dark, seeing only shadows, and he shoots a look at the elder witch, and asks if Bonnie's amnesia has affected her magic.

Mama T faces the hybrid, his strong brow set and his eyes hooded with that constant suspicion that has now reached a frenzy, and she chooses her words carefully, and calmly says, "Its inside of her when she ready," and she pats Bonnie's hands in her own, and encourages him to look at the young witch, "She full of magic, you can't see?"

And he looks at Bonnie in his shirt, hanging on her like a loose nightgown, and she did not look ethereal, there was no phosphorus spark, she was made of more than mystical elements like light and air.

A creamy shoulder is peeking out from where the shirt collar drapes, and he can smell her, the mix of his own bodily scent and cologne, and the salt of sweat breaking out over her skin, under her arms, and the intoxicating musk from between her legs, and the aroma of her earthy blood from the mosquito biting her neck, pulling her blood into itself until it was drunk and full.

He tears his gaze away from the girl, and informs Mama T that they need to leave.

"A blessing before we go," Mama T says, turning to the young witch, gently pressing down on her shoulders for her to genuflect. And picking up a bit up dirt, she spits into her palm, making a paste and she rubs the clay into the sign of the cross on Bonnie's forehead.

"_Blessed be the woman who perseveres under trouble, because when she has stood the test, she will receive the crown of life that God has promised_."

And Bonnie looks up at the deep coppery wrinkles in Mama T's face, the weathered lines and cracked lips, and she closes her eyes momentarily as Mama T continues to pray over her, and when she opens them, the old woman is replaced by a handsome young woman, her face like a shiny new penny, and as the fearless priestess chants the name of God over her, she looks past her, searching for the one she saw when she first opened her eyes, and she finds him, and she stares at his gleaming chest, and at the ink swallows tattooed on his pale skin, and how their wings began to beat and flutter.

**BKBKBKBK**

After he had dropped off Mama T at her home, he had asked Bonnie to sit in the front, and she obliged silently, opening and closing car doors to move to the front passenger seat, and she sat inches from him, the gear shift separating them with her slender hands folded and his shirt barely covering her rounded thighs and lap.

And he thinks how he never considered the witch; which was reasonable as it is hard to admire how attractive someone is when they are trying to kill you, but he is still a man, and Bonnie is significant to look at. Her skin, and eyes, and her scent that has flooded the front of the car is arousing; the amalgamation of him and her, and he thinks about rolling down the windows, but chooses to indulge, just this once.

"Tonight you will rest and tomorrow we start your tutelage," He says, laying out his intentions for the witch.

She makes no response, and he glances over at Bonnie, leaning on her passenger door, her forehead pressed to the window, and he asks if she requires food, and she shakes her head again, using gestures to communicate.

Bonnie is concentrating on the lights of the dashboard illuminating the car, colors of green, yellow and red, and the sleepy drone of the tires on the freeway, and the street lights whizzing by and how with each burst of white light into the dark car, she catches her reflection in the glass, her eyes big and wondrous and simultaneously glimpses her face as it was underneath the sewer of a high school parking lot, the eyes empty sockets.

"I was dead." She whispers to herself, her breath quickening.

His jaw tightens, and he makes a right on to Basin Street, slowing the car down in front of the ancient cemetery over run with ivy and heavy rusted chains on the iron-wrought gates.

He removes the keys from the ignition thinking this is it. The witch is back and she remembers who he is, and he is ready to subdue her if he has to, if she tries to do anything stupid, and he can feel the burn of his eyes shading yellow, and he refuses to look at her, instead he focuses on the empty street ahead of them, and how no one would hear her scream, and he says cautiously, "You were dead, that is correct."

Her heartbeat echoes loudly between them; its rapid thump blaring in his ears.

"**Y**_**ou**_ found my body, _**you**_ are the one who brought me back." She says, stressing each 'you' like she is in disbelief he is the one.

"Why," She asks, her tone stern.

And he quickly thinks of the many ways he can answer her, how he can play her like pieces on a chessboard. He even contemplates what cruelty he can bestow on her, the one who tortured him as much as he tortured her friends; and how he can repay her pay for those past transgressions.

But he realizes it would defeat his purpose and he answers her truthfully.

"Because I need you."

Author's Note

I rewrote this chapter at least 5 times and this chapter is much longer, I'm working on the other half of it right now but wanted to post this before I deleted it and started over again. To not give too much away, I will say to not get used to this Bonnie, and that there will be many more surprises to come.


	4. Now Is The Only Time I Know

**BKBKBKBK**

"Because you need me?" She repeats; and although he is not looking at her; not observing how she shifts in her seat; he can hear her skin prickle, her heart beat about to explode; he inhales the delicious scent of fear excreting from her pores.

He is a predator. And her terror is potent, choking the air between them, and his eyes won't relax into blue; they remain glowing, dilated and roused by her fear.

He closes his eyes, imagining dead things, her being one of them, and his fingers deftly run over the console until both of their windows are rolled down and the night air clears his lust.

Composing himself, he runs his tongue under his canines that rapidly retract, and tugs at the center of his jeans, then placing his hands innocently back on the steering wheel, he faces the witch with the dried mud crucifix on her forehead, crackling in pieces as she furrows her brow.

"Yes. You were needed hence why you are alive, breathing, sitting inside my vehicle in my shirt." He states, annoyed by the dirt cross's presence and being on her specifically. The symbol had never warded him off, and there had many souls who had held it up upon sight of him, a demon, praying the power of the god they worshipped would save them, right before he drained them and tore them apart. And on impulse he wipes away what is left at the center of her forehead, expecting her to cringe under his touch now that she knows who he is, but when she does not, when she allows his hand to linger and trace down the side of her face, he can't help but laugh at how the tables have turned.

"Mama T said you would need some time to get acquainted with your former self," He says, examining Bonnie, as he has never done, because before, her looks were clouded by what she represented, his thwarted revenge, his obstacle, she wasn't a face, she was a tangle of vexations.

"Humor me," he says, his fingers doing what they want, the pads gingerly trailing the shapes of her face, "Do you have any clue of who I am?"

"Klaus." She says, her eyes locked on him, "That is the name you gave when I came back and that is what Mama T called you. Klaus."

His thumb rubs circles over her veins, "But there is no recollection of that name?" He whispers, wanting to press his mouth where his hand rest, on her artery, and he wonders just how far he can go with her.

"Should there be?" She says, earning a genuine smirk from Klaus who withdraws his hand from her neck, not quite sure if he would need to quickly snap it, which would be dreadful due to all the trouble he went through obtaining her, or if he should continue caressing her, which is what he desires at that moment.

Bonnie Bennett might be a newborn but she is aware of intrigue and this excites him.

"Well, I will not spoil the surprise for you, Bonnie," He starts the car, the engine humming over the silence on the dead street, "But I will tell you who you are and why your life is invaluable to me." He turns down narrow alleys and trash-filled backstreets, "You are a witch," He says, glancing at her in awe of their surroundings as he drives through the fabled French Quarter with her Creole homes and Spanish courtyards, avoiding the police blockades and rambunctious crowds of Bourbon Street, "To be truthful, you are a prodigy, one of the most brilliant witches to grace this time period, unfortunately for you, you were using your talents unwisely and died " He states matter-of-factly, "You see, Bonnie, a prodigy cannot fulfill her potential without training, and where I come into the grand scheme of your resurrection is that I have a little problem, a meddlesome issue with a friend of mine in this city. So I needed a witch, and I can only have the best, and the best was no longer alive, so, Voila. I gave you your life back; and on top of this gracious act, I will mentor you, for dear Bonnie, I have known some of the most prolific witches over the thousand years I have been on this spinning rock, and I was even cursed to have been born of one, so you see, only with me will you exceed your potential. And all I ask in exchange for my generosity, is that you will eliminate my adversary. Do we have a deal?"

He waits for her to give him her word, anticipating her yes like it was binding. But she is looking out the window at the drunk revelers, decked in beads and showing skin and she grimaces and asks, "Where are we?"

And he possessively places his hand on her thigh, "New Orleans, love. Your new home."

**BKBKBKBK**

Inside the stately antebellum mansion, Elijah Mikaelson drinks aged-scotch, riffling through yellowed parchment paper and broken wax-sealed letters next to the sleek apple laptop, on the hand-carved mahogany desk, in the crimson damask covered walls of his younger brother's study.

Although he is freshly arrived to New Orleans off an eleven hour flight, no one can tell, mainly because he is a vampire, and fatigue is non-existent, but also because he is another rare being, one who also manages to keep himself un-ruffled. His black, finely tailored suit is still impeccable, his Italian shoes are un-scuffed, and his cuffs are white and crisp, and fastened with the polished heirloom cufflinks of his family's crest.

He was in Florence, visiting acquired estate and dear human friends who were living, and he had intentions on traveling to Rome for holiday and then an extended stay in Prague, but the last correspondence he received from his mercurial sibling left him unsettled, and he booked the first flight to Louisiana.

He sips his drink, the alcohol burning his throat and temporarily resolving his concerns as he thumbs through the letters, and picks up one from their sister. He reads up to the part where she tells Niklaus she will not be rushing home at his request because her and the bus boy from Mystic Falls had not yet reached Amsterdam, and she could not end their European excursion without him having visited the red-light district, before he hones in on the heavy footfall of his brother's boots swaggering up the palatial granite stairs to the imported floral-etched double doors of the front entry-way.

Flicking the letter back on the pile, he sits at his brother's chair, props his feet up on the rounded edge and listens to the commotion his brother stirs in the home just by setting one foot into the dwelling.

Servants bustle down the stairs, Marissa and Claude, and before the faithful and compelled housekeeper and butler are able to inform their employer that his brother is in his study; Klaus throws open the wooden door of the study and he is a sight. Shirtless and scowling, he stomps across the threshold of the room like a Medieval Lord, and considers Elijah and looks to the four corners of the room, ruling them empty, and back at his brother, always suspicious, always suspecting. And Elijah is used to such displays, and he holds up his glass, "Pleasure to see you too, brother," and he stands, and walks over to embrace his sibling when his full attention is pulled to the petite woman hiding behind him.

Elijah nearly drops his drink, the weight of it light as a feather, as he forgot he was holding it at the sight of the witch. He shakes his head slowly at the manifestation of his fear in front of him, and says, "What have you done, Niklaus?"

And Klaus's glower morphs into a sly smile, "You have met Bonnie before have you not, Elijah?

The Mystic Falls witch is barefoot and wearing his brother's oversized and dirty t-shirt, her black curls are tousled and her face is smudged with dirt, and Elijah who is never without panache and grace, stumbles over a response, and he musters a 'hello'.

"Hello," Bonnie says, and lifts a brow at the man who awkwardly stands in front of her, "We could have met before, like Klaus said, but," She adds, biting her lower lip, "I don't exactly remember much right now; Mama T says one day I will though." She says hoping that will suffice and that the expression on Elijah's face will disappear and stop making her feel she should run far away.

Elijah swallows the remainder of his drink and nods, keeping his eyes on the bottom of the empty glass in his hands, "We have met, and you were lovely then as you are now, and I hope your reason of being in our home is a pleasant one, "He finishes, shooting a dark glare at his brother.

"Such niceties," Klaus snorts, pouring himself a bourbon at the crystal-laden bar, "Marissa" Klaus orders, pointing to the auburn-haired maid with the round-face poised at the threshold of the study, "Show Bonnie to her room," and the maid grabs Bonnie's hand and Bonnie casts a look at Klaus and Klaus gestures that it is okay for her to follow the maid.

After the door is shut, and Elijah can hear the running water of a bath being drawn, he sits on the plush velvet chaise, his head in his hand and he whispers, "Why is Bonnie Bennett here, in New Orleans? In our home? In your shirt?"

Klaus settles at his desk chair, relaxing into the familiar leather grooves, and he tilts his full glass toward his brother, "Are you concerned that I may be plotting your death with the little witch as you tried to do with mine?"

"Do not play, Niklaus, what are you doing with the Bennett Witch?" Elijah asks, hoping that whatever his brother has done to Bonnie Bennett that it can promptly be undone.

"We were sans a witch, Elijah. We cannot fight a war with a punk hiding behind magic, if we do not have magic as well." Klaus says, huffing at having to explain his actions.

"What about her friends? We do not need the anguish of the Salvatores?"

"Her _friends_," Klaus laughs, "Her friends do not suspect a thing, per usual they are leaden with protecting the vampire doppelganger."

"And what of this Mama T she spoke of, why is it that she does not remember me?"

Smiling wide, Klaus dawdles, shooting the last of the ice from his glass into his mouth and crunching on the cubes, "She doesn't have her memories because before a few hours ago, she was dead. I dug her up out of a sewer in Mystic Falls and had a neighborhood witch bring her back. She does not know who I am, who you are, she does not even know who she is really." He beams at his brother, happy at their current circumstances, "Today is her birthday."

Elijah shakes his head again, "When she does remember, she will kill us all."

"Possibly," Klaus admits, "But we will cross that bridge when we come to it, until that time, she will assist this family in taking back what is ours," He says, wagging a finger at his brother, "Which is why there is no time to waste, arguing over whether or not I should or should not go after Marcel, when the only answer is that I am."

"This war you speak of, nothing good will come from it Niklaus."

Throwing up his hands, sending paper scattering from the desk onto the floor, Klaus bellows, "For once in your bloody life, can you be on my side?"

Elijah narrows his eyes at his brother, and gently states, "I am on your side, which is why I discourage you to seek this war with Marcel; it is not what you truly want."

He stands, and makes his way to the bar to refill his glass, "And what I do want, Elijah, pray do tell."

And Elijah hears Bonnie's soft voice through the wood floors, and sheetrock, and pipes. She is thanking Marissa for laying out a robe on the bed. And Elijah slowly stands, running his hands over his lapels, "There is no convincing you of anything otherwise, Niklaus. You have made your decision and I will honor it."

Klaus arches his brow, "Running away again?"

"No brother, I am not." Elijah says, curtly, "I am going upstairs to make our walking time bomb feel at home, and I am going to speak with the staff and have them appease her every want, and need and I am going to try my best to remedy the last impression this family made on her."

"Oh, Elijah, always the knight in shining armor," Klaus snorts, gesturing his hand to his brother that he was free to go, "Do what you must, as she is here to help this family," He adds, "But remember," his face darkening, "She is _**my**_ witch."

**Author's Note**

Ya'll leave the most beautiful and encouraging reviews, and it makes me so happy to read your feedback on this story. It's nice to know when your work is appreciated so thank you for that.

I will try my best to get another chapter up before next weekend.


	5. Hold My Liquor

**BKBKBK**

Contrary to how Klaus has so delightedly described Bonnie to Elijah downstairs; she is not a blank slate.

Amid the dense fog of her consciousness are absolutes. They beam through the haze like the bright white light from a watchtower to shine sporadically on what she knows. Like how she needs air to breathe, that it is gravity keeping her feet on the ground, that if she adds the numbers 2 + 2 it equals 4, and if she wants the color green, then she has to mix the colors blue and yellow.

There is also the knowledge of the different utilities of water.

Because when Marissa had closed the bathroom door behind herself, leaving Bonnie in the stark white room with a tub filled with steaming water, she didn't stand their idly looking at the claw-footed bathtub wondering what the hell to do next. She instinctively had taken off Klaus's shirt, and inched her body in- feet, calves, thighs- until she was immersed into the liquid. She took the nubby hand towel folded beside the tub with the fancy soap, carved as a flower, and had whisked it over her curves and soaped her hair, washing away the dirt and grime involved with coming back from the dead.

And though she can't remember Klaus is a depraved serial killer; she _does_ have memories, and it's interesting; what bubbles up to the surface of her mind.

While she bathed, she whispered words to a rhyme. Pulling her knees to her chest, she had cupped the water and rinsed her hair, singing mentally, '_Miss Mary Mac, Mac, Mac; all dressed in black, black, black; with silver buttons, buttons, buttons; all down her back, back, back.'_

Her memories are a scatter of images and sounds. They are independent of each other with no context, like an abstract painting, just red triangles and black squares on a canvas for her to decipher their meaning.

"Thank you," she says to Marissa, who acknowledges her by dutifully adjusting the terry-cloth robe on Bonnie.

Bonnie concentrates on the pale hands tying the robe's belt at her waist and she visions another pair of hands, these are smooth and brown, and they are covering hers, but hers are small and fumbling as she tries to tie the laces of a pair of tennis shoes, and there is a deep voice saying, _'You got it, baby girl.'_

"Would you like the balcony doors open this evening, Madame?" Marissa asks, and before Bonnie can think if she does or not, there is a knock, and from behind the closed door Elijah asking if he may speak with her.

She nods to Marissa, and the maid hurries to open the door and asks Elijah if she may retire for the evening.

Elijah breams his straight white smile over to Bonnie, who stands by the open balcony doors, with her arms wrapped around herself defensively. And like with Klaus in the car, her skin crawls inexplicably at his smile, and the more he beams, the more she wonders what he wants from her.

"Would you like a bit of supper before bed, Bonnie? Or maybe tea? He asks, and when she does not respond, but only eyes him warily, he turns to a puzzled Marissa and says, "Bonnie will have her breakfast served in her suite by 8 am. At present she does not have any suitable clothing. We will need to make do with anything you may have that she can wear for tomorrow. I will take her shopping for a wardrobe after breakfast so you will not be inconvenienced in such a way again."

Marissa curtsies goodnight. And after she leaves, Elijah lingers, ever the gentleman, he will not move closer to Bonnie unless he is welcome.

"Bonnie I do not mean to make you uncomfortable, "He says smoothly with one hand on his suit lapel, and the other gesturing to the four poster bed decked in virginal white bedding and canopy, "If you wish to rest, we can converse tomorrow."

"I'm not tired," She says, and sits on the bed, her legs no longer reaching the floor from the height of the bed. "What did you want to talk about?" She asks, her sodden hair dripping onto the duvet and saturating the collar of her robe. She swipes at the droplets that leak from her scalp, down her forehead, and off her nose and she ponders if her hair will be this heavy when it dries.

"May I?" He asks, pointing to the balcony, and she nods and stares at him as he takes each step to the double doors.

From where she is positioned on the bed, Elijah is hidden from her, but she can hear him when he asks her if she has by chance in the hours since her resurrection had any remembrance of her life, specifically as a witch.

And she contemplates the question from the invisible vampire, inhaling the thick smell of magnolias that rushed in with the muggy night air.

"_You are a witch."_ Klaus had told her on the car ride through the French Quarter.

But what did that mean? To be a witch?

For some reason when she thinks of the word, she sees floating feathers, and she looks back at the pillows behind her and pats down their fluffiness. "No, I don't." She answers, "But I know Klaus needs me to."

Elijah appears from the balcony, his brow creased. "Has Klaus divulged the reason for his need?"

Bonnie squints up at the dapper vampire, who when he talks to her makes her feel how one squirms when they don't know which fork is the salad fork at a fancy dinner.

"Who are you to Klaus?" She asks, playing with the ends of her hair, her eyes downcast on the comforter.

He sticks his hands into his pant pockets, curious by her tone in her questioning, "We are brothers. I am the eldest of the children born of Esther Mikaelson."

Her big green eyes hone in on him, "There are more of you?"

"At present there is only the three of us, diminished from seven."

"What happened to the other ones?" 

Elijah takes a step closer to the bed and holds his hand over his un-beating heart, "Let me differentiate myself from my brother," He says, smiling down at the petite witch, "Klaus is the one who will give you answers, and I will be the one to please you."

She stares at him and sees the definition of betrayal, black letters defining the quality of being ones comrade while aiding an enemy.

"Were we friends when I was alive?" She asks, knowing the truth.

"No, "Elijah answers, "Our alliances did not allow for amity, but, now, I would like very much to be a friend to you," He says then asking for her hand so he may bid her goodnight.

He brushes his lips over her crisp soap-scented knuckles, and she is overwrought with a melancholy that was not there before because she would like a friend, someone to genuinely be there for her, a confidante to help guide her through this new life, and Elijah is not them.

And the sadness sits heavy on her chest because she can't remember ever having such a friend.

**BKBKBK**

Five minutes past three in the morning, Klaus meditates on the second hand gliding in one full revolution around the face of the gold table clock resting on the corner of his desk.

The Bennett Grimoire is in his lap; the tattered book open to a page with protection spells. Spells he had seen over and over, nothing original. But also in his hand is a bill of sale; the stained document was the receipt of purchase of one unnamed Negro boy to Niklaus Mikaelson.

Klaus gulps his scotch, distracted as he runs his finger over his signature of the aged document, recalling the day he had sauntered in to his lawyer's dusty office on Canal Street and had him draw up a separate contract.

Emancipation Papers. For the unnamed boy in his possession.

He had tipped his hat to the stout American attorney and strolled out to the waiting equipage. A powdered-wigged servant opened the carriage door, and in the dark of the carriage was his beautiful sister who had hastily asked what the impish smile on his face was about, and he had made a show; pressing his mouth to her cheek, he had pulled out the papers hidden behind his coat and handed the handsome young man sitting across from them his freedom.

Warm brown eyes settled on him and his sister, and he considered the boy and said, "You are my son, and we are descendants of Gods," He grinned, Rebekah intertwining her fingers into his, showing her unity, "From now on you will answer to Marcel, the God of War."

He rubs his hands over face, annoyed, and he determines he will have Bonnie use the bill of sale as a charm to protect from any onslaught of magic from Marcel's witches as they discover how to overpower his special Davina.

And he finishes off his drinks, still agitated over the smiles and endearments of that distant memory, and he realizes is drunk.

Not sloppy drunk, never sloppy. But perhaps, more vicious, as he eyes the balled up letter from his sister.

The coldest of the cold blondes.

They fell into a succession of disappointment: his mother, his half-sister and the one currently cutting images out of magazines to delude herself into happiness.

Who has been the cruelest?

He snorts, thinking of the winner, and who places for the one who beget the cruelty and for the placement of the one he believed would eventually let go of her spite and love him.

And why should he save this contest for the women; the men had been equally frustrating.

He walks over to the bar for another drink, and foregoes the glass, drinking from the decanter. And he reflects over his final words to his brother before he ran off to comfort the witch. She was his and he is tense that had to make that clear to Elijah, his own brother. For if he had not, it would be Elijah to gift-wrap her and ship her to the Salvatore's doorstep, even though he had stood in his study and gave his word that he would honor his decision.

Klaus knew his brother, and he did not want him undertaking a war with Marcel.

"_She is my witch."_

Four words.

A threat, really; which he sadly had to make time after time in order to have his siblings' loyalty.

**BKBKBK**

There are not many unfortunate things about being a hybrid, but if Klaus has to choose one, he thinks it has to be the inability to stay properly pissed.

After downing two more bottles, he has drank past the point of hostility, and is experiencing that rarely achieved, lifted feeling, that weightlessness that will flee in another hour or so.

He wants it to stay.

So he twirls an unopened vodka bottle in his hand, switching to the clear alcohol since he is out of Scotch, and the theme song of the TV show, _Bewitched, _blasts from upstairs, beckoning him.

He climbs the stairs.

And he walks determinedly to the end of the hall; to where the bright light shines through the cracks of an ornate frame, and creeps from under a gap, and spreads outward onto the delicate Oriental rug in the hall, and over his black boots, where he stands right outside her bedroom door.

_Author's Note_

I'm sorry that it takes me forever and a day to produce a measly 2000 words, but I hope you still like it. There were three more scenes I was going to include in this chapter but I couldn't pound them out today without frying my brain, but I will hopefully finish and post in the morning.


End file.
